Somewhere Else
D Dónall Dempsey
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We are cold to each other.
The music is warm and loving.
We do not talk
(speak only in silences)
broken only by such inane politeness
as “Please can you pass the salt! ”
Thank yous where Thank yous aren’t meant.
The music swells
(enough to break one’s heart)
... simple...stark...
like a soundtrack
to underscore the feelings
that aren’t there.
Suddenly the music stops
And a gruff voice almost smiles:
”Thank you...thank you love! ”
“That f**ing busker! ”
“I wish he’d busk somewhere else! ”
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